


For What It's Worth, I'd Tear The Sun In Three To Light Up Your Eyes

by gala_apples



Category: Ant-Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bisexuality, Dildos, F/M, M/M, Object Insertion, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory Negotiations, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:15:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22843888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: Maggie and Jim, worried about cabin fever, stumble upon Scott in a situation weird enough to prove them right. Luckily, they have a solution.
Relationships: Maggie Lang/Jim Paxton, Maggie Lang/Scott Lang, Maggie Lang/Scott Lang/Jim Paxton
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	For What It's Worth, I'd Tear The Sun In Three To Light Up Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the object penetration prompt for seasonofkink. 
> 
> Title comes from a Placebo song, specifically For What It's Worth.

They start to visit him, soon after. It’s not so much a matter of forgiving him for the side he picked and the things he did. It’s more that Scott’s a chit chatterer. He knows Maggie and Paxton think he’ll go insane on house arrest being unable to talk to anyone. At least in jail he had people to talk to. Both times. For the record, Luis is a much better conversationalist than Clint Barton.

Part of being single and stuck in a fifteen hundred square feet home is really letting your mind explore all the aspects of the tiny world around you. After all, it’s all Scott’s getting until he’s allowed to go to a store again, in 2019. He’s developed elaborate mazes for Cassie. He’s moved his furniture a dozen times, even having his bed on the porch for a day or two. He’s learned how to do rebound basketball shots from any starting place. And he’s imagined some alien, not the Chitauri but some sex alien, locking him in his house and making him do sex stuff with the objects in each room before allowing him to escape. It’d be inscrutable, but insistent.

It’s one of those days, the days Scott spends with his curtains closed and a bottle of lube in his reach at all times, when shit goes down. He’s in the kitchen in deep headspace, edging himself while thinking about aliens forcing him to fuck a rolling pin, when he hears a knock at the door. Scott ignores it at first. If it’s the FBI, they’d be bursting in without bothering to give him a heads up. Anyone else isn’t currently relevant to his interests, which are making himself want to come for the fourth time today. It’s when his phone buzzes with a text from Maggie that he pays attention. The device is beside him on the floor, but he can’t pick it up with hands this lubey. But it says **we’re here** , and listening to the barrage of knocks on the door a second time, they sound like the pitter patter of police officer hands.

He’ll head them off at the door. It’s the best option of many bad plans. It’s not like he can pretend he’s not home. Scott yanks the rolling pin out with a little more vigour than he’d usually enjoy, and winces as he climbs to his feet. He grabs a tea towel from the oven and tosses it over the evidence, then is out of the room. The first floor bathroom is much closer than his bedroom, so he makes a quick detour for a towel to wrap around his waist, then heads for the door. Scott’s hand skids on the doorknob for a second, so he quickly wipes both hands on the terry cloth encompassing him. It leaves his palms coated in tiny fibres, but it’s better than the alternative. 

“Hey, good morning,” Maggie says, looking as beautiful as ever in a light green peasant top and jeans. Scott stiffens as she comes in for the standard greeting hug, tries to make it an A hug instead of a 11 hug. If the lube rubs off onto her jeans, he might have to break house arrest to run away.

The relief of her backing away is wiped away immediately when Paxton comes in for his own version of the hello hug; a manly bicep around the throat, chest to chest, rapid back slapping affair. There’s not a chance in hell he doesn’t feel Scott’s cock, still half hard despite the mounting horror. And as Scott is trying to deal with that issue, Maggie uses the moment to slip in past them both and curve around the stairs. 

Scott turns and tries to dash ahead of his ex-wife. “Yeah, so I was just gonna get into the shower, so maybe-”

“Scott?”

“Come back later?” Scott trails off as he comes to a stop beside Maggie at the entrance of the kitchen. His hide job was poor, not up to his old heisting standards. The floursack towel isn’t even remotely covering the lube covered rolling pin, or the fuck off massive bottle of lube. 

“This can’t be the safest choice you have for this,” Paxton comments, not even trying to conceal his cop-ish know-it-all wisdom. 

What the fuck is Scott supposed to say to that? Jim Paxton is the kind of man who makes very concrete choices. Acting out fantasies is probably a no go in his book, an answer that wouldn’t be an answer at all.

Maggie shakes her head, finally tearing her eyes away from the proverbial scene of the crime. “I think this moves up the timetable on something we were going to discuss with you.”

Scott’s stomach plummets to the floor. If there’s a morality clause in Cassie getting occasional visits, he’s maybe just fucked that up completely. There were so many problems when he got out of prison the first time, and that was only not paying child support. In some eyes, fucking kitchen appliances might be a much worse character choice.

“We were thinking for the duration of your house arrest, if you ever need companionship we could come over. As a _duo_ ,” Maggie stresses. “That’s not optional.”

“Skin hunger can be a bitch, buddy. Leads to... mistakes,” Paxton gives a pointed look at the unconventional dildo.

“What do you think? Scott?”

“Are you two for real?”

Scott’s not sure what he expects. They’re not going to yell gotcha and reveal the hidden cameras. But maybe he’s assuming a lot here, and they just mean cuddles. In which case, yeah, he probably won’t say no, still, but that’s a very different conversation tree, one that doesn’t have his mouth watering and his opened asshole clenching.

With the type of efficiency that Scott doesn’t come close to having, that makes Scott understand why he’s the better choice for Maggie now, Paxton pulls off his shirt. “Yes, Scott.”

No, not Paxton. If he’s going to be having sanity preserving, cabin fever reducing sex with him, Scott better call him Jim.

While he and Maggie were in college they had threesomes. Less when they got married, only a few times. Not for any shift in morals, but because it’s hard to screw wildly with an infant down the hall. Scott can understand Maggie still being into it. Jim is a bit of a head scratcher though. He’s so traditionally masculine that this sexuality fuckery and lack of possessiveness seems impossible for him. And yet he’s here, thick with chestnut hair, confident but open.

“Just, before we do this, you get that I’m pan, right? I wasn’t harassed and turned in prison. I don’t have Stockholm or anything.” He knows he’s rambling. He can’t help it. He’s a rambler, always has been. Maybe not as much so as Luis, who has a real gift, but enough so to provoke stoic types.

“Maggie’s told me about Stockton.” 

Scott nods nostalgically. Stockton had been very pretty, up until the moment he started crying while getting fucked. Then he was beautiful. And how can Scott be mad at Maggie for telling his secrets? They’re her secrets too.

“Lets go upstairs. And you really should throw that out.”

Scott chuckles at Mags’ suggestion like he’s not going to inevitably do whatever petty thing makes her happy. It’s only big picture stuff he fucks up irrevocably, the day to day he’s great with. Jim shows his agreement, his disdain for the rolling pin saying “show me what you have?”

The comedian in Scott wants to open up the fridge and brandish a cucumber in front of Jim. The smart part of him says now’s not the time to misbehave. Making a joke at Jim’s expense is not the best idea when he’s trying to convince his ex-wife and her husband that they should, in fact, have sex with him on a regular basis. Thank fuck, the smart part wins, stifles the wisecracking and merely follows Maggie in climbing the wooden steps to the second floor.

Two months into two years, Scott’s thankfully gotten over his filthy slob phase. It was less of a phase than a week, really. Scott would never risk Cassie telling Maggie and Paxton his place is gross. The point is, his room is tidy, enough so to impress two Type A types. He even made his bed this morning.

Like any open minded bisexual man in his thirties, Scott’s got a dresser drawer full of sex toys. Some he’s only used once or twice, like the Slap Chop that used to be in the cupboard in the apartment he and Maggie shared. Some are as necessary as a George Foreman grill. He tugs on the drawer so hard the tracks practically squeal, getting their attentions. 

“Any of it’s fine,” he says, gesturing. It comes as no surprise when Jim steps over and begins to examine the contents like it’s a box of evidence.

Scott takes the moment of distraction to move closer to Maggie. She’s topless now. Scott’s seen these beautiful breasts in so many situations; in purple spandex at the beach, breastfeeding, under the talented tongue of another woman. He’s not sure he has the words for how grateful he feels to be seeing them again, after assuming that part of his life lost.

They stand face to face, eye contact disappearing as they get too close, resting their foreheads together. Her nipples are against his chest, and she can definitely feel the shape of his cock now, if she did miss it before. She smells so exquisite Scott never wants to stop inhaling.

“You can be in love with me, Scott,” Maggie says seriously. “You can let yourself believe I still love you. Because I do, in a way. But you cannot allow yourself to think I’ll leave Jim, or that this will be our norm. Polyfidelity is important to me.”

Scott never thought, when they were fooling around most nights in college with a different student, that he’d be on the outside of the couple plus one arrangement. But it made sense to their love before, and he still understands now. Cassie deserves a normal upbringing, and that’s not parents in a threesome. Even if he has sex with them six days a week from here until the end of house arrest, it’ll always be Mr and Mrs Paxton and sometimes Scottie. He can be okay with that.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know Mags.”

“Your only lube in the kitchen, or...” Jim asks. It breaks the moment he’s having with Maggie, but Scott doesn’t mind too much. This is the hardest kind of polyamory he’s ever navigated, and he doesn’t want to overthink it into being problematic.

“Grab one of the ones in the nylon bag.” It’s a party pack of flavoured and special effects lubes. Nothing he uses every day, but fun things to switch them up.

Once they retreat to the bed, things move quite quickly. Jim gets both of them on their backs on top of the comforter. Jim climbs on top of Maggie, cock impressively hard and flushed, and impales her as her legs curl around his back. Straight to it, no rush to put on a condom. Scott doesn’t let himself think about if she’s on birth control or if one day Cassie might have a sibling he has nothing to do with, makes himself focus on the gorgeous sigh Maggie always makes when she’s full of cock. She claims he makes one just as good when he is, but Scott’s never been egocentric enough to notice. 

Before he has much chance to worry that it’s just a peepshow the Paxtons are putting on for him, Jim’s holding the dildo in front of him. It’s one of the biggest Scott owns, two and a half inches wide, eleven inches long. White people fleshed toned, with nice veining. Maggie’s got a smile quirked on her face as Jim lubes it up inches away from her head.

“You’re ready for it, aren’t you, bud?” Jim asks, friendly in that weird fatherly bro way that he has. It is fucking bizarre to find it a turn on now, when it used to trigger such annoyance.

“I can’t be much more open,” he replies. It’s not like it’s a shameful secret. Everyone in this bed knows the width of a rolling pin.

Still, the head of the dildo meets with a bit of resistance before sinking in. Scott breathes through it, exhaling when the pleasure kicks in. It’s good shit, getting fucked by something thick and hard. Each to their own, of course, but Scott just doesn’t get top-only gay men. He likes fucking as much as any other non-asexual person, but there’s just something about being _full_.

Especially when it’s compounded by the top being good at their job. Scott can’t be resentful that Jim is a great partner in bed, as well as having a steady paycheck, being strong and capable, and not being under surveillance by multiple agencies. Maggie deserves someone like that. And apart from Maggie, Scott is currently reaping the benefits. Jim is splitting his attention equally, managing to attend to both in part by using the same rhythm on his wife as on the screw up ex. Every time Maggie moans from a particularly sweet thrust, Scott can’t help his own echo. Jim’s fucking him with the dildo like it’s an extension of his own hand. It’s goddamn wild, and Scott knows from wild. Scott’s taken down Vistacorp, fought Tony Stark, and shrunk down to ride flying ants. Scott knows how to recognise pinnacle experiences. Jim might not be the number one best lay Scott’s ever had, but there’s no question he’s been the best since his first arrest.

It’d be sheer romance movie bullshit for them to come simultaneously. Too reinforcing for it to be Jim and Maggie together with a wait or prerelease from Scott. Too misleading for it to be Maggie and Scott together. For as much as he can think as he’s spilling his melted brain out of his cock, it’s probably for the best that Jim pushes Scott’s orgasm out of him with the force of the wideset dildo a solid minute or two before he himself comes inside Maggie. Not that Jim ends it there, instead shifting down the bed in the span of a heartbeat to lick her to orgasm. A man who can eat his own come in the effort to get a loved one off is a man Scott can respect.

“So... you’re gonna just... come over sometimes and do this again? To stave off me going mad and forming my own society?” Of ants, he’d like to finish, except that’s the kind of joke they won’t find funny. Cassie would, but no one with a grain of responsibility or tact.

“That’s the plan, Stan,” Jim says. Scott closes his eyes briefly so he doesn’t look at him too judgingly. How is the man Maggie loves such a fucking dork sometimes?

“If you want us to,” Maggie adds, a shade in her voice acknowledging it’s not as clear cut as Jim’s casual authoritative tone has made it seem. 

It’s clear cut enough, though, is the thing. Sure there might be reasons why a deadbeat criminal superhero might not want to fuck the love of his life he didn’t choose to divorce and her new, better in all aspects husband. But he’s lonely, and he’s only going to get lonelier. Scott doesn’t regret helping Cap, but it hasn’t gained him the superhero friend group he thought he might get. And he’s certainly not going to get a girlfriend or boyfriend until he can go past his fence line. At this point Scott knows a little something about plea deals, and this is literally the best offer life will ever present him. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I want you to.” If there’s more to say, well, he’s got twenty two months left to say it.


End file.
